


The Beginning Is The End Is The Beginning

by badwolf_doctor



Series: Ain't No Fortunate Son [1]
Category: Assassin's Creed
Genre: AU after AC3, Christmas Carol vibes, Desmond flips Juno and fate the bird, Desmond is less than amused, Doctor Who References, Gen, I have lost control over this fic, Indiana Jones References, Princess Bride References, Shaun runs around like he's Indiana Jones, all of the modern assassins are giant dorks, dead assassins show up to offer advice and make snarky comments, except some stuff from later games shows up, handwaving concerning medical recoveries, idek what's going on anymore, particularly from Syndicate
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-12-15
Updated: 2016-02-09
Packaged: 2018-05-06 21:07:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,237
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5430830
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/badwolf_doctor/pseuds/badwolf_doctor
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Desmond Miles was always fated to die to save the world, but nothing said he had to <b>stay</b> dead. After all, Juno is still out there. He let her out, that makes her <i>his</i> responsibility.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Only the beginning

**Author's Note:**

> Companion fic to my [Desmond Miles ask blog](http://ask-no-fortunate-son.tumblr.com).

Death wasn’t all he’d thought it would be, or anything like it had been advertised. There was no white light, no choir of angels, nor was there a fiery pit and the wails of the damned (which quite frankly surprised him because he’d always thought he’d end up there.) He didn’t feel that comfortable peace though, all he felt was a faint disassociation from his extremities the way he’d get if he was out in the cold too long. He could see himself, which was strange—his body lying on the hard ground where it had fallen. The arm he’d used to power the device appeared charred—that was more than a bit disconcerting. He could see Shaun and Rebecca and even his father rushing around him though he was uncertain what they were doing. But he couldn’t muster up much of a fuck to give at this point. This was the first moment since he’d been abducted a little over four months ago that he’d had a break; the first moment where the fate of the world didn’t rest on his shoulders. It was sad that he had to die to get a break, but hey, he’d saved the world—he’d earned his rest and he was going to take it. Sure, he could fight it, try to keep on living, go back to his friends as a hero. But truthfully, he’d never wanted to be a savior, he’d never asked for any of this. He’d been quite happy as a bartender.  
_Oh for fucks’ sake, Desmond_ he could almost hear Clay Kaczmarek’s voice. _I didn’t die for you to just lay down and quit. Walk it off and get back in the game._

Whether the voice actually belonged to his dead counterpart or some part of his brain that wanted to live, it had a point. So many people had sacrificed so much to get him to that point. And besides, Juno was still out there. He’d been the one to let her out, it only made since that he’d be the one to have to put her back. The question, if he wanted to proceed with this line of thought (and he wasn’t entirely sure he did), was _how_ to go about that? He was effectively dead and therefore incapable of actually **doing** anything to stop her. Perhaps that was the real reason he’d had to die, because only the one who’d freed her could stop her? It made about as much sense as anything else he’d head recently. What if he couldn’t get back and there wasn’t any place to move on to? What if he was forced to spend the rest of eternity observing the destruction and chaos wrought by Juno and the Templars, never able to do anything about it? He might have to revisit that whole _hell_ idea because that certainly sounded like his own personal one What would he do with himself if he was stuck this way for all eternity; observing but never interacting with, never able to change anything? If he wasn’t at least a bit mad already, an eternity of that would surely drive him to be. 

Should he ‘get back in the game’, or should he take his well-deserved rest? There were benefits to both options. But there were too many lingering questions for him to make a decision right now. How would the world change in the coming years? He wasn’t vain enough to believe it would stop turning without him but would his choices make the world better or worse? What would happen to Rebecca, to Shaun or his father? Would they stop Juno? Could they stop the Templars? Or would the Assassin Brotherhood once again be culled down to practically non-existent? He was curious. Or rather, he was worried and was mislabeling his worry as simple curiosity. He never liked to admit he worried about people, because that meant he cared about them. And if you cared about things then you could lose them. Desmond historically didn’t handle loss very well. Perhaps he was worrying over nothing? Maybe his father and the others would come up with a clever way to stop both Juno and the Templars and the world would finally know peace? Anything was possible. He’d seen far crazier things in his life and lived through impossible things—from a device that let him live the memories of his ancestors, to learning humanity was originally bred as slaves for a powerful and meddlesome group of space wizards, to the end of the world. Desmond Miles would believe in just about anything at this point. This time last year, he was a bored bartender who had no purpose in life and now he was an Assassin. A dead assassin.

  


_That’s because it’s not a good story unless the hero dies—everybody knows that Desmond._

Oh great, he was hearing Clay again—that couldn’t be a good sign. The man himself appeared before him, perched on the edge of the device Desmond had used to save the world and looking as he had when Desmond had last seen him in the bowels of the Animus.

_Except, plot twist buddy—you ready for this? You’re **not** dead. At least not completely and we all know there’s a big difference between mostly dead and all dead._

Desmond stared at him for a moment, mouth open in surprise. It was only the length of the space between heartbeats but if felt like forever. “You’re dead.” He said finally.

Clay applauded, voice dripping with sarcasm as he spoke. _Yes, wonderful grasp of the obvious Desmond. I am **so** glad you were the one chosen to save the world—no one can compete with your wit and intellect._

Desmond frowned, glaring at the other man. “There’s no need to be an asshole.”

 _I’m dead Desmond, my people skills are a bit rusty. And I have every reason to be an asshole._ Clay retorted. _I mean, I go and get myself deleted from the Animus to save your sorry ass and you go and pretty much **waste** your second chance—not cool dude._

“How are you even here?” Desmond asked, still on his previous train of thought. 

_I can pretty much go wherever I want._ Clay replied. _It’s the one upside to being dead._

“Right, so…what are you doing here?”

 _I’m here to deliver important plot information. Clay said. You’re getting a rare opportunity Desmond, which honestly, doesn’t surprise me because it seems like you keep getting them and that’s not fair to the rest of us._ Clay paused. _Anyway, back to the matter at hand. You’re going to be visited by a couple of friends who will also impart important information to you. And after all that, you’ll get your chance to decide whether you live or not. But,_ Clay held up a finger, _that means you have to hang around for all that. There can’t be any skipping out early. Capisce?_

Desmond was confused. This was all very A Christmas Carol. Except that he wasn’t Scrooge, just a guy who wasn’t sure what to do with himself. He supposed this made Clay his own personal Jacob Morley. “Alright.” He agreed. What could it hurt?

 _Fantastic. I’ll see you again before this is over._ And with that helpful nugget of information, Clay was gone.

  


Desmond was alone. But he no longer stood over his own corpse. The Grand Temple melted away and he was left in darkness. He no longer felt that disassociation he’d felt earlier, but he still didn’t have full feeling back. Instead he felt a pressure on his chest and in the background he could hear muffled voices. They were familiar; it was like hearing the voice of a deceased family member on an old home movie, you recognized it but you couldn’t recall why. The sounds went silent almost as suddenly as they’d appeared. Desmond was left in silence and darkness, which while not an entirely welcome change, was still a change of pace from the Grand Temple. How long he stayed in the darkness, he didn’t know. He moved through the darkness, never running into anything and never finding an end to it. Time had no meaning here. Every moment seemed to drag on for eternity. It reminded him of being in the Animus while it loaded. Clay had promised he’d be visited by others, yet none had come. He was beginning to give up hope. 

Finally, a light appeared in the distance. It wasn’t the ‘white light’ at the end of the tunnel that people talked about when they talked about death. This one was golden and it was moving towards him—there was something familiar about it, something almost comforting but he couldn’t put his finger on what it was. The glow took the shape of a man and the world around him changed—the nothingness became brick and mortar and he looked upwards to a brilliant starlit sky. He was in a courtyard, he realized. The glowing figure moved passed him and Desmond followed after it. Down, down, down, they went until the figure came to a stop in front of a large statue—he was in Monteriggioni in the Assassin’s vault, this was the statue of Altaїr. The figure became recognizable to him then as that of Ezio Auditore, his ancestor from Renaissance Italy. He did not appear as he had the last time Desmond had seen him in the Animus, mere moments from his death at a ripe old age. In fact, he looked the way he had before he’d ever become an Assassin.

 _So, you are Desmond._ Ezio said, circling around him with his head cocked to the side. _Heh_ , he said with amusement. _There certainly is a somiglianza familiare._

“Yeah.” Desmond replied rather dumbly, not in the least bit surprised he could understand Italian. “I guess you could say that.” Ugh, could this death get any weirder? Sure, Clay had said he was going to be visited by others, but he hadn’t imagined it would be his ancestors. This was even weirder than being visited by Clay because at least he’d known Clay, actually **met** him, well sort of. He’d only known Ezio through the Animus.

 _You’ve had a rough time of it, have you not?_ Ezio asked coming to a stop in his circle-making. He sounded almost sympathetic.

Desmond nodded in confirmation. **Rough time** was putting it mildly.

 _Such is the way things must be._ Ezio said. _Neither you nor I asked for this life, but we made it our own. You truly are a skilled warrior._

“Only because I learned through your memories.” Desmond said. He was only the Assassin he was (had been?) because of Ezio’s skills. Before beginning his training, he’d been pretty much useless in a fight. Sure, he’d known how to throw a punch (and take one) but any other skills he might have learned in childhood had atrophied by the time the Templars caught him.

Ezio waved it off. _Being a warrior isn’t only here, he tapped his head. It isn’t only skill. It’s here_ , he placed a hand over his heart. _It’s a willingness to fight for what you know is right, no matter how difficile the fight is. A willingness to give your life to protect those you care for. Those things you already had, you did not learn them from me._

Desmond moved so he was leaning against one of the other statues. “Maybe.” He replied. “But my part in the fight is over. I was meant to stop the solar flare and I did. Haven’t I earned a rest?”

Ezio seemed to ponder his words for a moment. _Indubbiamente._ He replied. _However, the fight is not over and you cannot stop fighting just because you deserve to; not when the fight is not over. You saw what happened to Monteriggioni and the people I loved when I did that._

Desmond remembered that day clearly; the Borgias led an attack on the city—sacked it in fact. The Villa had been damaged, the people in the city below had been killed or driven to the hills in fear, Ezio’s mother and younger sister Claudia had barely made it out of the city and worse of all, Ezio’s uncle Mario, the man who had been like a father to him for 20 years had been killed in front of him. All of his training, all of his skills and strength and there had been nothing he could do. In that moment, Desmond had felt the way Ezio had—like the scared and heartbroken teenager who had watched helplessly as his father and brothers were hanged for crimes committed by other men.

“What are you saying?” Desmond asked. 

Ezio observed him carefully for a few moments as if trying to choose the right words. _The ones you love—the ones you died for, they are the ones who will suffer if you give up before the fight is over._

“What do I do to stop that?” Desmond wanted to know.

 _È semplice Desmond, si mantiene combattimento._

**You keep fighting**. Ezio’s final words to him echoed as the Assassin himself disappeared.

  


The world seemed to speed up, the colors rushing and blurring together; Desmond could hear voice again, louder this time than before but he still couldn’t make out what they were saying. The colors finished blurring together before fading out altogether. Once again, Desmond was in darkness. It wasn’t that he wanted to die—he’d barely gotten a chance to live, it was just that he was so tired and it would be so easy to just give up. No more fighting, no more running and no more hiding.

Another light appeared in the distance but this one wasn’t like the last one; it wasn’t a warm glow; it was like the shimmering of a glitch in the animus. Desmond moved closer on instinct. 

_Just walk right past me_. A familiar voice said. Those were Clay’s first words to him on Animus Island. The man himself appeared a moment later and the environment changed to that of a compound; it reminded Desmond of ‘the farm’ but it was obviously located somewhere different.

“What is this place?” Desmond asked. When Ezio had appeared and they had been in Monteriggioni, it had made sense as they Villa had been Ezio’s home and Desmond had spent time there, they had that location in common. But he’d never been to this place before.

 _Would you rather it be Animus Island or Abstergo?_ Clay asked curiously. 

“Ah, no.” Desmond replied.

 _Yeah, I thought not. This is the Assassin compound I was in before I was sent to Abstergo. It was the place where I was the happiest. It was the only place I’ve ever felt I belonged._ Clay said. _I made friends here and I’d never really had many of those before._

Desmond crossed his arms and perched himself across from Clay on what appeared to be a picnic table. “So, where’s my ‘ _you have to keep fighting Desmond_ ’ speech?”

Clay laughed. _We’ve already had one of those, remember? No, I’m here now to have a different serious and important discussion with you._

“About what?” 

_I’m so glad you asked, Des._ He said. _What happened to me at Abstergo was…awful—we can both agree on that. But it happened because our leaders don’t see us as people, not really. They see us only as pieces on a chessboard to be moved and sacrificed as necessary to further the mission._ He paused, looking around the setting as if he was seeing something that Desmond didn’t. There was a fond smile on his face as he turned back to Desmond. _The thing though is that war **isn’t** chess. It’s messy and complicated and sometimes there are no rules. The life of every member of the Brotherhood should matter— **really** matter or else we’re no better than the Templars._

“Yeah, I agree with that.” Desmond confirmed.

_I know you do. But when you wake up you need to remember that, because you can change things. Just remember, the Assassins are **nobody’s** pawns—not Juno’s, not Abstergo’s, not even our Mentor’s. And you’re not their pawn either Desmond. Juno may have lied about a lot, but she didn’t lie about you; you’re the best of us. So **don’t** be their pawn. You control your own destiny._

“It’s as simple as that?” Desmond asked. “Just decide I’m in control and I am?”

Clay’s smile widened as he replied, _Yeah, it’s as simple as that._

“Say I do decide to live, what am I supposed to do?” Desmond inquired. 

Clay shrugged. _Engh, you’ll figure it out._ He replied. _Good luck Desmond._

  


Clay vanished in the same familiar Animus shift he’d arrives in and as Desmond went back into the darkness he could hear the same voices from earlier, this time he caught a few snatches of words.

**“Des—“**

**“This…most activity in…”**

**“What…does that mean?”**

  


And again they were gone. Desmond huffed in frustration. This was getting old. Clay and Ezio had been right, the fight wasn’t over and just because Juno had said he’d had to die didn’t mean he had to stay dead. He couldn’t just give up. Especially not if Rebecca, Shaun and his father were the ones who suffered for it. But how did one handle coming back from the dead? How did you not come back changed? How could you go on like you had before and not spend your time wondering if anything you did made a real difference?

The setting lightened again, blurring colors coming to a halt in the form of Monteriggioni again. He waited for a figure to appear before him but nothing came.

_Hello Desmond._

Desmond jumped at the sound of the voice, whirling around to find its source standing behind him: Lucy Stillman. A sharp pang of guilt surged through him. He’d let himself be Juno’s pawn and killed someone who’d been nothing but a friend to him. Juno had shown him a betrayal but knowing now that she was a liar meant he had no idea whether what she showed him was the truth. He supposed it didn’t really matter now since Lucy was dead either way. She looked the way she had before he’d found the Apple, no blood, no wound and full of life. “I’m so sorry.” He said.

Lucy smiled. _It’s alright Desmond._

“I suppose you’re here to give me an inspirational speech as well?” He ventured a guess.

Lucy’s smile grew mischievous. _I could just be here to haunt you._

“You’re not though, right?” Lucy didn’t reply. “Lucy? You’re not here to haunt me, right?”

She laughed at how worried he sounded at the prospect. _No, I’m not._

Desmond sighed in relief.

 _I am here to tell you something; I don’t know how ‘inspirational’ it is—that’s never really been my area of expertise._ Lucy paused and sighed, tucking a strand of hair behind one ear. _I forgive you Desmond._ She said and Desmond was surprised by how much of a weight that lifted off him. _Juno told you a half-truth, I **was** a Templar spy. But I wasn’t going to betray you._

Desmond didn’t know what to say to that, so he kept quiet and let her continue.

_You can’t let what happened make you bitter. You can’t let it make you lose faith in yourself. You can’t let it change you; you’re a good person and you inspire people. You make them want to be better than they are—you make them want to do the right thing. That’s a power the Templars don’t have, not without the effects of the Apple. But you only have it so long as you don’t become bitter and jaded like your father._

“That sounds like a big job—lots o’ responsibility.” Desmond said. “You know how I feel about responsibility.”

_You can manage it. Lucy said adamantly. I believe in you._

The world around him began to get lighter, the colors of Monteriggioni blending into a bright, white light.

“Lucy, what’s going on?” he asked, motioning to the changing colors.

 _You’re waking up. Seems like you’ve made your choice._

He had a lot more he wanted to say to her, but as he opened his mouth to speak, she held up a hand, effectively cutting him off.

 _I’ll be seeing you Desmond._ She promised and then, she too was gone.

  


The world around him continued to grow brighter and brighter until he had to shut his eyes against the light. When he opened them again he found he was in what appeared to be a hospital of some sort—all bright lights and clean white walls. He could hear the beeping of machines and the whole place smelled like antiseptic. He didn’t know where he was but it wasn’t important. He was awake and he was alive. Huh, whaddya know? So much for Juno’s prophecy. Maybe he **did** control his own destiny after all?


	2. The hunt begins

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Shaun Hastings _might_ be regretting his decision to be out in the field.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter somehow managed to end up being mostly focused on Shaun. It also ended up split in half. That was done because there ended up being too much extra stuff I wanted to add and the chapter just felt too long.

                For centuries, a war had been fought in the shadows. It was a war not for land or for title, but a war instead fought for hearts and minds; a war fought for the freedom of all mankind. On one side: The Templars—determined to have peace, even at the cost of free will. They were the moustache twirling, maniacal laughing creeps who would sell out their own grans to further their goals. On the other side: The Assassins—tireless warriors dedicated to protecting the world from the Templars’ machinations; weeding out corruption and megalomania one villain at a time. (He _knew_ things weren’t as black and white as all that, but he had to believe it. Once you started questioning everything about what you were doing, it was all you did. He needed to believe that everything he had been through was worth something.)

 

It wasn’t exactly a glamourous life, despite what it said in the brochure (though it had its moments.) There was an awful lot of running and hiding in dusty and dirty locations. And did they ever get any thanks for their hard work and sacrifice? No, as a matter of fact, they did not. The average bloke on the street never knew about the faceless organization bent on subverting their freedom and they certainly didn’t know that the Assassins were the only thing keeping them safe. They worked in the darkness to serve the light. They didn’t ask for recognition (though, it would be nice every once in a while.)

 

Shaun Hastings hadn’t been born into this life the way some people he’d known had been. He had _chosen_ it—or rather, it had chosen him and pulled him kicking and screaming into a world where he spent a good deal of time _actually_ kicking and screaming and where things like being shot at and living on the run were common place. On the run from who, you ask? Why, Abstergo Industries, of course. The world knew Abstergo as the multi-billion-dollar conglomerate that manufactured…well, everything really. From medicine, to phones, computer and game systems to military tech; Abstergo had their hands in it all. That was inherently shady in and of itself but add to that the fact that Abstergo was really a front for the Templars and it got _truly_ shady. Yeah, the Templars were better funded but as a friend once said, they lacked heart and imagination. The Templars being better funded just meant that the Assassins had to get creative to combat them and they certainly had no problem with that.

 

Sometimes though, it felt like a hopeless fight. They’d lost so many people, that it felt like that was all they did. He’d lost too many friends in recent years. Sometimes, Shaun wondered if he’d be better off not caring about anyone or anything other than himself. After all, the Templars weren’t the only threat—Juno, an ancient and powerful being with a serious grudge against humanity was still out there; they hadn’t had the slightest rumblings from her in quite some time, which was nearly as troubling as Juno actively causing problems. At least on that front they had a plan…well, half a plan…ok, so more like a general idea. During one of Desmond’s Animus sessions, he’d found an audio clip left for him by his predecessor that said the pieces of Eden were once part of a whole. They had figured that since freeing Juno had taken First Civilization tech, that stopping her would also take said tech. So, they’d begun a proper hunt for the Pieces of Eden. And even if it turned out to not do much to stop Juno, simply gathering the Pieces of Eden kept them out of Templar hands. (Those bastards certainly didn’t need any more advantages in this never-ending war).

 

In the past four years, Shaun had taken a more proactive role, going beyond simply sitting behind a computer. In the past two years, he’d spent more time out in the field than ever and he’d actually enjoyed it for the most part, except for that whole business where he’d almost lost his best friend. After _that_ whole debacle, William had moved Rebecca back to a support role and had given Shaun a new partner. He’d resisted the change at first, because _Rebecca_ was his partner—she’d been with him through so much and how could he work with anyone else? But it was hard to truly dislike his new partner. Though, on occasion they did disagree on the best way to handle situations. Shaun was more a fan of _sneak, sneak, use some tech and keep out of sight_ kind of investigations; his partner, Hadassah was more of a _sneak, stab, let me break a guy’s neck with my thighs_ kind of girl. It was like sometimes she just got frustrated with all the sneaking around this job required and would just decide to beat the crap out of a group of Templars twice her size when _clearly_ there were other options. But she was more knowledgeable on the topic of Pieces of Eden than most people and she didn’t sigh and roll her eyes at him whenever he started in on another historical rant, so he could deal with the occasional _difference of opinion_.

 

“You know I’m all for being out in the field, but Isabela _really_ should be the one on this mission. She’s a local, she knows the area and she speaks the language which would certainly speed things up. _And_ I could stop texting her every time I need info. But _nooo_ , Miss **I’m a doctor, I heal people, not hurt them** had to stay home and leave me and you to fend for ourselves. Shaun? Hello, are you listening?”

 

He snapped back to reality when a hand lightly hit his arm. “Ah, no. Sorry, got lost in my own head.” He admitted sheepishly. Shaun wouldn’t admit it, but since the day the world hadn’t ended, he’d been rather morose. Alright, he’d been a bit more than morose off and on. He felt awful. He’d been a right ass to Desmond and then the idiot had to go and save the world and nearly get killed in the process. And then came the whole incident with the Shroud and he couldn’t quite shake the feeling that they were doomed. That nothing they did made a difference and humanity was destined to be nothing more than mindless servants to all powerful beings. Sure, Desmond had survived. But he’d spent three years in a coma and while apparently, he’d woken up and had been rehabbing to get back out in the field, who knew if he’d even be able to?

 

Hadassah frowned at him, clearly irritated at being ignored. But it wasn’t entirely his fault, he had a lot on his mind. The world was a mess and everything they did always felt like too little, too late. Shaun felt like that kid in the fable with his finger stuck in the dam to keep it from breaking and flooding the town. Like all they were doing was buying humanity a few more hours of freedom before the onslaught of darkness overtook them all. See, like he’d said, morose.

 

“Anything you want to get off your chest?” Hadassah inquired curiously. “Preferably before we start the ridiculously long climb, because I have a difficult time multi-tasking while free-climbing.”

 

                The two of them were on a rooftop adjacent to their target. They were going to have to climb to the roof of their target, hack the camera feeds, slip passed a plethora of guards and then hack into a highly secured Abstergo system to find the information they needed to track this particular Piece of Eden. Shaun and Hadassah had been in Peru when they’d gotten an e-mail about some archeological dig in Brazil—included in the e-mail were several photos of the supposed site. Abstergo logos were visible on the gear and Hadassah had recognized a glyph on the ruins as a crystal skull. The theory was that the Templars hadn’t found the skull yet because it had been hidden by an Assassin and would therefore take an Assassin to find it. So, they’d break into Abstergo’s computers, find what they were looking for and get the skull all under Abstergo’s nose. Or…it could be an elaborate trap. Shaun _really_ hoped it wasn’t—they could use a real win right now.

 

“Do you ever wonder what difference we really make in the world?” Shaun asked after a while. “Whether or not all of this is worth it?”

 

Hadassah bit her lip and was silent for a moment. Tucking a loose strand of dark hair back into her braid, she answered, “Sometimes, yeah. It’s hard not to at times. In fact, a few years back, I thought about leaving the Brotherhood.”

 

“Well obviously you didn’t do that, or we wouldn’t be having this conversation.” Shaun commented.

 

“I did leave, actually.” Hadassah said. “See, I lost a friend and I was angry—at the Mentor, at myself, at my friend and _especially_ at the Templars. All I wanted to do was wallow in my anger, I didn’t care about anything else. I just wanted everyone to hurt as much as I did but I knew it wasn’t fair to take it out on those around me. I guess I figured that if I left then I wouldn’t be beholden to the creed and I could take my anger out on the Templars however I wanted to. So I left. But while I was out there in the world I realized that my friend died in a fight they believed in, to get important information to the rest of us. If I gave up that fight, if I forgot the creed then I was saying that their death was meaningless, that their beliefs and their life were nothing. And that would have been worse to me than the loss itself.” Hadassah paused, checking her watch; they had plenty of time before the guard change. “Humanity is flawed. No one can argue that. They fight over the most ridiculous things, they lie and they hate and they kill and are generally awful to one another. But they can surprise you sometimes. They forgive, and they grow and they learn. And you can’t take the choice away from them in favor of a half-life. You can’t lose your faith in humanity Shaun, or else you find yourself wondering why you’re even getting out of bed in the morning. The fight is hard and sometimes it **sucks** and you lose the people you care for, but we protect those who can’t protect themselves. And if we don’t do it, then who will?”

 

“You make a good point.” Shaun said, taking his glasses off and putting them in their case before slipping the case into his bag. “Alright, let’s get this over will—the sooner we find this thing, the sooner we can go home.”

 

Home. It had been at least a year since he’d been there. He’d almost forgotten what it was like to be somewhere relatively safe, or to be in the company of friends. Hadassah was great and he counted her as a friend but it would be nice to see Rebecca again—and Desmond. Rebecca had e-mailed him when Desmond had woken up from his coma but he hadn’t seen him, or even talked to him yet. Maybe Shaun would finally apologize for being an ass, and tell the former bartender that he considered him a good friend. Or maybe not.

 

 

               

* * *

 

 

Desmond Miles had spent the last year and a half building up his strength. It was difficult to come back after a three-year stint in a coma. But, he was working on it bit by bit. Was he back to where he was before? No. But he could walk unaided for the most part and he could climb well enough. No, he wasn’t back to normal and perhaps he’d never get back there. But he could do many things now he thought he wouldn’t be able to. So perhaps he could find a new normal. Perhaps he’d been pushing himself too hard lately, but he _hated_ feeling trapped here, _hated_ feeling useless. He wanted to be out in the world, making a difference.

 

It was strange to think how much he had changed from the time he’d been kidnapped to well…the time he’d died. This was also strange to think about. He’d been dead—or mostly dead—and then he’d been visited by other dead people and _then_ he’d come back and now here he was. Fuck, his life was strange.

 

The training room was empty when he entered. He spent most of his time in here nowadays. He’d wanted to get back in the Animus—to relearn skills that way but Rebecca had been leery of putting him back in the Animus until he was 100%. When he wasn’t training or being looked over by the Doc, he was assisting Rebecca, who was doing a combination of her job and Shaun’s. She’d told him that she’d been out in the field with Shaun for a time, but she wouldn’t tell him what had prompted her to resume a less proactive job. Desmond figured that whatever it was had to be pretty bad if she wouldn’t talk about it—Rebecca talked about everything. She was the most well-adjusted person he knew. But he would let her keep her secrets because she was a great friend and he cared for her immensely.

 

While things were quiet, he was going to take the opportunity to try to build up his upper-body strength. The climbing wall at the back of the room was his preferred method. As he climbed, he pondered a few things. What was Juno up to? It seemed that everyone had expected her to do something earth-shattering the minute she was released but instead she had practically vanished. There had to be a reason—everything she did was well thought out and meticulously planned; look at the long con she had run to free herself. All of the tiny things she’d had to orchestrate just so things could turn out in her favor. All the lives she’d had to meddle with; someone like that would never just fade into the shadows. So what was her plan and could they stop it? His father had gone in search of an answer. That made this place seem very empty. Besides Desmond and Rebecca, there was only the doctor here full time. Every once in a while, teams would stop in for a day or two before heading off on their next mission. But this was a big place for only three people. The doctor, Isabela Adalino, had joined the Assassins, as she had told Desmond, _‘out of a desire to help people’_ ; knowing that often times Assassins had only the most basic medical care since it wasn’t as if they could go to the hospitals and still be able to avoid the Templars. And if his being alive and in one piece was any commentary on her skill as a doctor, then she was a damn fine one.

 

Desmond’s arms began to ache before he’d made it all the way up the wall. Logically, he knew he should stop but he was so close to the top. He pressed onwards. Right arm reaching up for a hand hold, he pulled himself up. Of course, that was the exact moment his right arm decided to say _‘fuck you dude’_ and give out on him. He probably would have been fine except that his foot slipped when he tried to right himself. He fell. Briefly, he wondered how embarrassing it would be if he died a second time due to his own stubbornness. Luckily, he caught himself, left arm supporting his weight as he searched blindly for a foothold. Once he was secure, he began to carefully make his way back down the wall, making sure to take it easy on his right arm. He’d gotten full range of motion back in it—quite an accomplishment considering it had been badly burned just prior to his death…or almost death (he really needed a better term for what had happened to him). Obviously, the burns didn’t heal. In fact, the whole arm looked like something out of a horror movie, but honestly, as long as he wore a jacket, you couldn’t really tell. And it didn’t give him too much trouble all things considered, except for occasional pains and the odd moments where it gave out on him. If it was a choice between learning to live with it or being dead, he’d choose the former every time.

 

“If you’re done trying to kill yourself again,” Rebecca’s voice said from the doorway. “I could use an extra set of hands in here.”

 

“You saw that?” he asked in embarrassment once his feet were back on the ground.

 

“Yeah.” Rebecca replied. “I did. You’re lucky Iz wasn’t the one who saw it—she’d have a fit if she knew you were trying to undo all her hard work.”

 

Desmond followed Rebecca out of the training room and into the long hallway that lead to the main hub.

 

“I know.” He said. “And if I end up hurting myself more, I’m gonna regret it but I’m going stir crazy being cooped up here.” He admitted. “I mean, it’s just you and me and the doc here—I don’t even know where here is come to think of it.”

 

Rebecca looked back at him over her shoulder. To her credit, she _did_ look sympathetic. “I get that, believe me, I do.” She said. “But you’re too important to this mission to risk letting you get injured or killed. You need to be 100% or at least 98% before you get back out there.”

 

Desmond chuckled softly—she was worried about him. “I’m at least 80% better, most of the time. I’d say consistently I’m 75% better.”

 

It was Rebecca’s turn to laugh. “Yeah, well that 20-25% can get you killed.” She replied.

 

“You’re right. I’ve already done that and I didn’t enjoy it. So it’s probably better to avoid it.”

 

The central hub of the compound was floor to ceiling computers—between the Animus, the history archive and whatever set up Rebecca had to keep in touch of the teams in the field, there was barely any place in the room without a cord or a monitor.

 

“Where do you want me?” Desmond asked.

 

Rebecca sat down at her station. “History archive.” She replied. “I need you looking for anything you can find on crystal skulls.”

 

Desmond spun the chair around at the history archive desk and sat down, spinning back around to face the computer screen. “Crystal skulls?” he inquired. “Skulls made out of crystal?”

 

“Yes, Desmond.” Rebecca said. “Hence the name.”

 

“But why?” Desmond asked, before clarifying. “I don’t mean _why_ are we looking for them but _why_ as in, **why** is that even a thing?”

 

“Beats me.” Rebecca responded. “All I know is that Shaun is in the process of finding one and I need all the info we can find on them to make sure nothing horrible is going to happen if he messes with it.”

 

 

* * *

 

 

                Shaun’s free-climbing skills were better than average, but that didn’t mean he particularly enjoyed that aspect of the job. He _certainly_ didn’t enjoy the leaping to almost certain death part—even if there was a certain freedom in falling into the unknown. No, he preferred the sneaking and hacking part of the job. That was what he excelled at. Hadassah, on the other hand, seemed to enjoy the fighting and the falling and all that came with it. She had a sunny disposition in the truest sense of the word. She was warm and cheerful and managed to make people feel better simply by being around but she was also angry—deeply angry and that rage burned hot and anyone that got to close and wasn’t extremely careful was likely to end up burned. He almost felt sorry for anyone who got in her way.

 

The roof of the building was surprisingly unguarded, just as their intel said it would be. The thought that this could be a trap once again crossed Shaun’s mind. He pulled his laptop out of his back, preparing to hack into the security system. It only took him a few minutes, which seemed slightly suspicious to him. Or maybe he’d just grown paranoid? Whatever, it was better to be paranoid than dead.

 

“I’ll have the doors open in a moment.” Shaun said, briefly looking up at Hadassah from over the top of his laptop. Aha! He’d done it. He pulled his phone out of his bag and dialed Rebecca’s number. “We’re in.” he said when she answered. “You should have access to everything now.”

 

“Good job.” Rebecca told him. “I’ll guide you guys through—good luck.”

 

Shaun put away his laptop and looked up to find his partner kneeling in front of the door. “What are you doing?” he asked. “The doors are unlocked.”

 

“Not this one.” Hadassah replied. “It’s a bit old school. Just give me a second.”

 

Shaun heard the lock click, and watched the door swing open as Hadassah stood back up.

 

“ _Now_ we can get started.” She said.

 

 

                They were in the belly of the beast now. Well, probably closer to the throat of the beast seeing as they hadn’t actually made it very far inside the building yet, but still, they were deep in the heart of enemy territory. They had no real plan of action or escape plan other than, sneak around, maybe kill/incapacitate a few Templars and sneak out again. That made Shaun nervous. He liked to have a definite plan of attack for these kinds of missions, liked to have done recon and made detailed lists of information rather than just going in blind. But seeing as this mission was kind of a spur of the moment thing (and was also, no doubt, a race against both time and the Templars), they were just going to have to fly by the seats of their pants. Fucking  _wonderful_. 

 

               


End file.
